


Let go (I'm pulling you under)

by Miruuuww



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sad, Sad Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Dies, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22661008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miruuuww/pseuds/Miruuuww
Summary: "How is he?" The man, Dean Winchester, husband, stood up, cracky voice wavering with lack of use or maybe perhaps the pure desperation. Eyes wild and blown searched her face, clearly looking for an answer, too blind to see or too in despair to not see it."Mr Winchester, maybe you should sit down." That was how all the conversations started.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Let go (I'm pulling you under)

Christina let out a long sigh, her eyes trailing the messy writing of Jeff who worked night shift. Her eyes darkened and her lips thinned before she handed the clipboard back to the nurse. Mentally preparing herself to meet the family, she breathed in, and out. It was the downside of her job, but she wanted to believe she saved more than doomed. 

Opening the door her eyes locked with a male, green but bloodshot eyes, freckled skin, thinned lips and messy hair. Dark bags under his eyes and the predatory cold look in the dim of his eyes were enough for Christina to know this wasn't going to end prettily. 

"How is he?" The man, Dean Winchester, husband, stood up, cracky voice wavering with lack of use or maybe perhaps the pure desperation. Eyes wild and blown searched her face, clearly looking for an answer, too blind to see or too in despair to not see it. 

"Mr Winchester, maybe you should sit down." That was how all the conversations started.

°°°

Dean bit the inside of his cheek, slowly and quietly closing the door, not wanting to wake up Sammy. He's gonnaHe's gonnaHe's gonnaHe's gonna

No.

Dean slowly walked closer to the hospital bed, his throat closed as he watched Sam. The dark brown locks were messy, but still kindly staying off his sunken, pale and tired face. Slight dark circles under his eyes and the tone of his skin was enough confirmation of the doctor's words he needed. He's gonnaHe's gonnaHe's gonnaHe's gonna

No.

Dean slid closer, sitting down onto the plastic, empty chair that probably was soaked with bacterias from other desperate family members. A second of hesitation, and then he reached for Sam's hand. As soon as their skins touched, he felt the cold, the numbing cold and in panick he looked over to the monitors, need to be assured his baby was still alive. It was too cold. He's gonnaHe's gonnaHe's gonnaHe's gonna

No.

Slowly, as gently as possible he ran his thumb over the cold skin, feeling every bone and every joint in Sam's knuckles, and a sob broke out. Before he had time to collect himself, eyes fluttered. Half lidded, hazel eyes shifted to his with slow, drained movements, and words weren't needed. 

It had been like that from the beginning. Sam and Dean grew with each other practically mended from knees, so of course Sam would know. Of course he'd understand. And of course he'd get that damn face on that made Dean want to scream and hit something. 

It was the look Sam used whenever Dean was down, hurt, in need of assurance or love. The look that screamed, I'm here, it's okay

No.

It's not okay.

"Hey." Dean managed to choke out, the silence too much for him to handle. The clock on the wall, the constant tick, tock, tick, tock, was slowly driving him mad. As if time was mocking him, reminding him that this is happening and Sam's time is running out and oh my god Sam's gonna

No.

"Hey 'ourself." Sam had peeped out, a sad sound of an old man, forty seven you son of a bitch

Because Sam was forty seven. He was forty seven, and he had been in the hunting life all of his forty seven years. And he was alive. 

And whatever comfort that thought had previously brought to Dean during his tensed nights, was all gone and again this mocking tone rang in his head. 

And Dean wasn't looking at Sam, which was ridiculous because he could disappear any minute now forever, but looking anywhere else. The sheets, the walls, the blindings, the monitors, because he knew if he looked into those damn eyes there would be no coming back.

"Dean." And fuck you Sam

His head turned, tears burning in his eyes as he faced Sam, his little brother, best friend, lover, boyfriend, husband, everything. And Sam knew. His lips were thin, but slightly upwards tilted, his eyes never leaving Dean and in their half lidded presence they still held the meaning of a thousand words. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I'm so sorry, please- please don't-" His sobbing mumbling came to a halt as Sam brushed his finger over Dean's wrist, the soft touch on his skin something new and desperate in his mind he clung into. 

And then he was jolting up from the chair.

He was practically climbing on top of Sam, cradling his head, pleading everything and everyone to let him keep his baby, knowing no one would answer. 

°°°

"I- I don't wanna go-" Sam's breathing hitched, and Dean curled up against him, already whispering sweet nothings, tears streaming down both their faces.

No.

"It's okay... It's okay baby... I'm right here with you till the end." And both of them knew it was a lie.

"I love you- I love you so much Dean please-"

"I love you too, sweetheart. Shh... It's okay. I've got you, always..."

°°°

"It's good seeing you again." Lie evident in his voice Dean only gave a nod of his head, dismissing Joshua's kind gesture of trying to go for a hug. 

37 days.

Dean researched, surfed through books and computers and tried not to think about the horrible, clawing absence everywhere.

38 days.

Dean took a sip of his protein shake, frowning at the taste but quickly carried away. He tried not to think about the salad he had brought home without thinking.

39 days.

He answered Joshua's calls, texts and went to see him whenever the older hunter needed. They were closing on the case, and Dean couldn't wait to go to home and-

40 days

It had been a tricky one to understand. Everything didn't need to be so god damn difficult always. An abandoned house, clear history of any signs why a ghost would start to pop by constantly. No base for a vengeful spirit, nor any disturbing deaths in the near days that would have made them understand. It was a normal ghost. Maybe tied to something, or someone, or wailing without a purpose through world. 

Cocking their guns the hunters slowly slid into the house. The dim light of the moon was enough to show them their surroundings, not that there was much to smash into. The house was furniture free, walls scraped to the start and curtains ripped. 

"A classical horror house, how comical Dean."

Dean shivered, the voice in his head too happy and full of life to be real. 

His head came up in alert as he found another cause of his shivers. 

Not trusting his old knees he slowly turned around, shotgun ready. 

The colour leaves Dean so pale he might as well be the man he's staring. Aside from the dull hazel eyes and still long brown locks and lot taller body. 

"Sam." He thinks he hears Joshua's gasp, pain and mourn in the older hunter's voice, and as an instict the gun falls from his hands down to the floor. The ghost, Sam, doesn't flinch, his eyes locked with Dean with something

"Dean." He feels his kneels buckling, stumbling to take support from the closest wall, hand flying up to his mouth to keep in the wails that are clawing to get out. 

"Sammy..." He croaks out, and the ghost, Sam, flickers, before it's a bit closer. He's seen many ghosts back in days, his father's, his mom's, Bobby's and lots of others that didn't have a meaning. But this?

This was the forty days back with full force.

"I's cold." And Dean chokes in a sob, the view of Sam blurring before he blinked, the warm and salty tears sliding down his cheeks without mercy. 

And Dean doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't know what to do. 

It's Sam.

It's Sammy.

"B-Baby it's okay... I'm here." Dean is silently begging for someone to put him down, as he blindly reaches towards Sam's closing figure. 

"You left." There's no anger, only pure sorrow and Dean is breaking everywhere. He doesn't think he'll survive the night. 

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry-"

"It's okay." And this time, Dean screams.

"IT'S NOT OKAY!" Dean is sobbing violently, tears streaming down his face as he chokes on his words, tears blurring his view again.

"Sammy... You died." And that had always been enough for anything. Any excuse, any burst of anger or affection, breakdown, sex marathon or hug that lasted more than five minutes. 

"I can't let go..." Sam's eyes go darker suddenly, and his lip quivers and the tears won't stop.

Sam reminds him of five year old Sam, finding out Dean was going to go with Dad on a hunt and he had to stay behind. 

"I'm sorry..." Because he's sorry for everything. 

Sam is getting closer again, flicker of his image, step by step and Dean won't back off. He wants to get closer but knows nothing will welcome him. He knows Sam's not going to burst into the War Room when he arrives home and hug him, a bright smile on his lips and lights of life and joy in his eyes. 

"Y-you gotta let go... You gotta let go Sammy and go upstairs..." Dean's trying the card of humour, but even on ghost Sam's face it's evident it didn't work. Never really does. 

"I don't wanna go without you." 

Dean chokes, gasping for air as the sobs rock through his body like sharp, boiling knives. 

"I know. I know sweetheart I know but-" Dean can't finish. He can't cast Sammy away now that he just got him back. He just got him back. 

Dean doesn't trust himself to live after it.

"You gotta let go. You gotta let go, baby. I love you, but you need to go" Dean's shattering, and Sam's staring him with those dull eyes before they expand. The dullness gets replaced by a sheer light, a small blink in the void that Dean knew and wanted to scream after.

Sam looks down at him, a smile on his lips that tells everything before he disappears into thin air.

Dean doesn't expect him back as Joshua hugs him close through the sobs that wreck everything he has. 

°°°

Back with the Impala, Joshua asks one more time if he's okay, and the glint in the old hunter's eyes is enough for Dean to be sure Joshua knows exactly what is going on. He nods, a smile on his quivering lips, and the old man gets the meaning, and gives him a sorrowful smile and pat on the back. 

Dean drives home, slowly, by speed limits with Metallica silently playing from the radio. 

'And nothing else matters'

Dean drives home with a smile on his lips. 

It is as he knew, no warm welcoming or bouncing Sammy, pure coldness and the bitter taste of loneliness. He sets down his bag by the end of his bed, and lets out a long breath.

41 days.

A gunshot.

0 days.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself."

**Author's Note:**

> So...  
> That was sad. I again, randomly dug around in my drafts and found this little one, and decided fuck it, I'm publishing it.
> 
> We're sad beans down here.
> 
> Love you x
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters, or anything about Supernatural, and I make no profit of this.


End file.
